Icarus
by PlanetOfTheWeepingWillow
Summary: Felix has somehow ended back in time, now with wings sewn to his back. He befriends a poor Lithuanian man named Toris. Yet, the world Toris lives in is slightly off compared to Felix's home. A PolLiet wingtalia series.


Feathers lightly brushed the ground. The soft plumage, white and spotted with brown, rustled. The tight muscles holding them together flexed and the owner of such wings took a shaky breath and rose to his feet. Each moving bone was visibly on his pale, naked body. His fair hair reached his shoulders and caught the bland fluorescent lights overhead. He shuffled across the room, his parched lips parted ever so slightly. He pressed his thin fingers to the door and pushed it open. The halls were vacant. Folding his wings tightly against his back, he continued down the hall, his bare feet hardly brushing against the floor. There wasn't a sound, smell, or sight of anyone else in the building. He stopped at a window, pushing it open and peeking outside. The sky was tinted pink and light blue, the morning sun beginning to break the horizon.

He slipped one leg over the sill, spreading the corresponding wing out. His cold loins brushed the plastic covering. He perched lightly on the gutter below the building and shot outwards, opening his wings fully and allowing pockets of air to catch in the cupped areas. He glided above the forest, enjoying the sweet taste of the outdoors and the fresh air. Warm sunlight caught in the clouds, dying them pale gold.

Eventually, however, he grew famished. His stomach writhed within him and he spotted towering buildings before him. A city. He was ignorant, and he knew quite well that if he appeared in the midst of a thousand people, nude and with wings, he would be beaten and screamed at on the spot.

He decided on the outskirts of the city, a small suburban area. He landed beside a swing set in someone's backyard. He found a clothesline and decided against stealing an article of clothing. He bounded up again into the skies and swirled around, trying to form a plan. But complex structures proved too difficult to articulate and he dropped the idea. Until, that is, he caught sight of a young man roughly his age. He swooped by, standing behind a tree. The man looked up, feeling the draft of air brush his face. In his arm was a basket filled with mushrooms. His mouse-brown hair was tied back with a string. He called something out in a language the winged man couldn't understand. The brunette saw a flash of white behind a tree and approached him, switching into a language the winged one could understand. He remained before the tree, out of sight. The winged one introduced himself as Felix. The stranger smiled and said his name was Toris.

Felix complemented the name and warned Toris that his appearance may shock him. Toris shrugged and said he had seen worse. Felix stepped out, his hands on his chest. Toris looked him over and asked him to come over to his house. His language was broken and so Felix asked him, "Do you speak English by chance? I can hardly understand your Polish."

"Yes, I am Lithuanian and I had only two years of Polish lessons, do forgive me." Toris smiled warmly and lead Felix into his small house. "I think I have enough mushrooms, I might make something later with them. Stay for dinner if you want." Toris went into his backyard, hopping over the fence and placing the basket on a table. He found a loose shirt and pants and tossed them to Felix. Toris went bare foot.

Felix pulled on the clothing and tucked his wings into the shirt. It felt stuffy. "I couldn't stay so long."

"Where else will you go?"

Felix shrugged and followed Toris into the small house. He placed a kettle on a gas stove. Meat hanging on strings surrounded the kitchen, by the window. Felix stood, waiting for full permission before he touched anything or sat down.

"I don't know," Felix admitted. Toris held out his hand. He wore a billowed-sleeve white shirt with a brown vest over it. His trousers were brown and very soft. He motioned for Felix to sit and Felix obliged.

"Where are you from?" Toris asked. The kettle whistled and he took it off, setting it on an oven mitt and shutting off the gas stove. He tossed tea leaves in and covered the kettle with a towel. He searched for tea cups.

"I am from Poland originally, but I was taken away for years on end. They stitched wings on and here I am."

"How did you escape?"

"I woke up today and found no one in the building, so I left."

"Do you think they will hunt you down?" Toris leaned against the counter. The other room of his tiny house was a bedroom and living room squished together. A boxy television set sat in one corner, a small bed in the other, and a couch draped with blankets on the other side. A door in the back must have led to an outhouse.

"Possibly. Or if they are dead then they cannot do that."

Toris nodded and poured the auburn colored tea into two cups, placing one before Felix and one in front of the other wooden seat.

"Are you hungry, Felix?"

"Famished."

"Good, I will prepare something. I have bulvini blynai ready, let me heat it up." Toris dug around the tiny refrigerator.

"Why do you hang meat up if you have that?" Felix asked, sipping the bitter tea.

"I wanted dried strips of meat," Toris explained, unfazed. He seemed lax with anything, he hardly put up a fight against a passing wave only pushed him further up stream, as he let his body relax and go with it. Toris pulled a plate of the potato pancakes and slapped several on a pan, placing it on the stove. The smell of potatoes wafted towards Felix and he felt saliva forming in his mouth and his stomach turn in hunger.

Toris quickly heated them up and handed them to Felix, who stabbed right into them and gobbled them up without a second thought.

"How are they?"

Felix nodded his appreciation, "wonderful."

"Good, I am happy that you like them."

He sat beside Felix, picking up his tea cup and holding it in his arms. Though it was still not autumn yet, his fingers had chilled in the damp grass. He had left home just before the sun had risen. "Can you fly on your wings?" Toris asked.

"Yes I can," Felix wiped his lips with the back of his wrist and moved on to finishing his tea.

Toris nodded, "How is it flying? Like it feels in dreams?"

"Better, usually… What year is this?"

"Nineteen seventy-two," Toris replied.

Felix's eyes widened. He could have sworn he was taken away in the year 1990.

"Are you alright? You are very pale." Toris commented, collecting the dishes and setting them in the sink.

"Why do you wear traditional clothing then?"

"It's all I can afford." Toris pressed his lips briefly to Felik's forehead, feeling his temperature. He pulled away and shook his head, "No fever."

"No, no fever… But it's strange." Felix scratched his neck, "How am I back in time?"

* * *

_I do not own Hetalia._


End file.
